


Crash

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>self-indulgent casturbation voyeurism fic ♥ pwp for sure ♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash

He’s just  _there,_ in the middle of his bed, legs splayed; his breath fucking punching in and out of his chest. His thighs are trembling; next to where his hand works, fist sliding up and down, Dean can see a cord of muscle quavering erratically, and it is that tiny,  _terrifyingly_ hot detail that draws his eye to fixate on the image of Castiel in its fullness; the flush at the base of his neck, his wide, capable hand clenched in the bedsheets; his parted lips, the curve of his cock between his fingers.

For the first few long, bewildered seconds, he stands there and watches, at a loss as for what else to do; whether to clear his throat, let him know he’s there, or back out of the room like nothing ever happened, and keep the image quiet, a secret, to himself.

All that becomes moot pretty quickly, though, because Castiel cracks his eye open, tipped-back head slurring forward, and his eyes alight on Dean, and he gasps.

“ _Dean.”_ And his hand speeds up, and Dean chokes on something invisible at the sound of it, like someone has reached inside Castiel and pulled the name from his throat; every inch of his body feels rooted,  _hot,_ and his fingers scrabble for purchase against Castiel’s bedroom wall.

He knew he did this, dimly; knows that  _everyone_ does; but he never imagined it was like this, with  _abandon,_ with  _finesse;_ The slick, red head of Castiel’s cock sliding through his fist faster and faster, his breath ratcheting higher and higher to desperate, cut-off, breathy little sounds; syllables, not words. His eyes slip closed again, drift from Dean’s, and then he mutters his name a second time, drops it between them, and Dean is  _alight._

He can’t move; he stands in the doorway and watches, feels himself getting hard and reaches down to knead the front of his jeans with the heel of his hand, but can’t tear his eyes away from Castiel; moving his hand ever faster, jerking his hips upward into his hand, digging his bare feet, his curled toes, into the mattress; Castiel arching his back, hard, as he comes, and shooting all over his fingers, over his stomach, dripping over the hair between his legs.

There’s a moment when time seems to stop; when Castiel sags against his pillows, still stroking himself slowly with his hand, and Dean is still watching; and then Castiel opens his eyes again, lifts them to Dean’s, and the whole of time seems to hang on the words that will pass between them next. 


End file.
